


Beyond Redemption

by laudanum_cafe



Series: Love Metal [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_cafe/pseuds/laudanum_cafe
Summary: Patrick reflects on the process of how he created his greatest masterpiece: Pete Wentz.





	Beyond Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyric excerpts from the song "Beyond Redemption" by HIM (off their album "Love Metal")
> 
> I was listening to this album all weekend and it brought back a flurry of memories and emotions. The story is a quick drabble that was inspired by several life experiences but written in a metaphorical way. 
> 
> As always: feedback, kudos, and comments are appreciated. Also, pass by my Tumblr (@laudanumcafe) for conversation of any type, dank memes, or shit posting.

_I see your scars...I know where they're from…_

This whole thing that I have with Pete? That's not really the easiest thing to explain, if I'm being completely honest. I've been in love with him from the moment I first laid eyes on him, believe it or not. I know to those who hung around us back in those days, I either seemed detached or I carried a fair amount of disdain for Pete. That could not be farther from the truth. I was just confused and guarded about my emotions back when I was sixteen. But from the moment he showed up on my doorstep, with a big-toothed scowl and a bag full of insults, I was unequivocally hooked. We spoke non-stop for an entire week after that initial meeting and it just solidified my intense admiration of him. He always liked to compare himself to the Rock of Gibraltar, solid and unmoving, but deep inside he was the most kinetic and delicate hearted person I have ever met.

I do know that when we became...whatever it is that we are, it definitely wasn't as bad off as it eventually became. There was a time where we were both seemingly well adjusted and capable of living a normal day to day life. Well, maybe I was more capable of living a normal, well adjusted life than Pete, but he was better at hiding whatever bullshit lived in his head back in those days. I don't know. Looking back now, I realize that while he already had some hairline fractures and slight bruising, I was the one that had the heaviest hand in fully breaking him.

**

_So sensually carved and bleeding until you're dead and gone…_

Oh dear gods, Pete has always been so fucking WILLING to just give away his body to anyone remotely interested in having a taste. He just could not resist someone who would take the time to fill his mind with gilded words and false promises and he gladly offered every inch of his own flesh in return. His heart, he did keep that a bit more guarded, though. This way, he could fool himself into thinking he was perfectly content with that bullshit mentality of “my body is an orphanage” and that he was in full control of the situation.

He really did take everyone in.

Pete always put up a good front, I have to admit. All those random sycophants and mindless devotees believed in the glorious and untouchable facade of The Pete Wentz. No one, and I mean NO ONE, was able to tell how fragile he was inside.

But I could.

That darkness and pain that he stored inside his impervious safeguard? I thought it was so fucking beautiful to behold. I felt so special, so powerful, so singular in importance because only I was given the combination to his heart. All of these scene kids and perverts may have consumed every inch of his exterior but they could never scratch past the first layer of his carefully crafted armor.

I don't know...that unknown, untouchable vulnerability that he trusted only to me...it made me want to twist and turn it into something so much worse.

Just because I could.

I wanted to mold his pain into something uniquely personalized and so distinctly MINE. I wanted to carve my name into his illness like a fucking Sweetheart Tree so that no one, not even Pete himself or any of his other internal personalities, could ever mistake that he belonged anyone else but me.

**

_I've seen it all before...Beauty and splendor torn…_

Pete, at the height of happiness and ecstasy, is the most stunning work of art I have ever laid my eyes upon. I have travelled the world, seen countless paintings, listened to the most sonically engaging symphonies, walked innumerable ancient ruins, and have seen a myriad of majestic feats of architecture…I've been exposed to an entire world of beauty.

However, Pete trapped and sinking sinking sinking, deep into the depths of madness...gasping for breath, heart arrested in terror…NOTHING compared to that.

Pete in the throes of passion was poetry but Pete locked in the hell of his own mind...THAT was my idea of celestial perfection. It became my personal salvation.

**

_It's when heaven turns to black and hell to white...Right so wrong and wrong so right…_

I wasn't always so bent on this obsession with breaking and molding Pete’s mind and heart. Believe it or not, it was a very slow and gradual process. So slow that I wasn't even aware it was happening for the longest time. There was a period of my life where I had zero intention of working this glorious man into madness and was content just to stand inside his love.

Let me clarify something: I am not crazy or delusional at all. I'm fully aware that what I've put Pete through could be considered unimaginable to many but I've dedicated the majority of my entire life to Pete in some form or another and while I will admit that many of my actions are extreme, I'd never call it abuse. If anyone ever knew the details of the actions I've taken to ensure Pete's transformation, well...they'd probably say otherwise. That's fine. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

What I do with Pete...it's just...how can I explain this. It's like when I'm writing a song. Taking Pete's words and transforming them, building a wall of music around this symbolic heart to encapsulate it and give it a host to thrive. I want to take his mind and do the same thing. Turn it inside out until it's completely reconstructed and can no longer live and breathe without me.

**

_Feel it turning your heart into stone_  
_Feel it piercing your courageous soul_  
_You're beyond now- redemption-_  
_And no one's going to catch you when you fall_

  
Yeah...turn Pete inside out until he's completely reconstructed and can no longer live and breathe without me. Alter and isolate him so only I can catch him when he falls.

**

_I see you crawl...You can barely walk...And arms wide open you keep on begging for more…_

It took years and years to get Pete custom made to my liking. I mean, it took years of trial and error before I even really knew what I was doing much less fully realize what I wanted out of this. I vividly remember the week I became cognizant of what I had turned into and what I was trying to do to Pete. This awareness hit me with such force that I almost broke apart myself. I was so overwrought that I left our shared apartment and checked into this shitty Holiday Inn Express for nine days. I lost myself in isolation and alcohol; crying uncontrollably, questioning my actions and my own sanity. I don't remember many details of those days since I made sure to keep myself properly intoxicated and thoroughly numbed.

I left my phone at home.  
I didn't want anyone to find me.  
I was too scared of myself.

Eventually, day seven came around and I decided I needed to accept this entire situation for what it is and continue to move forward or leave Pete for good. It took me two more days to sober up and suffer through the absolute worst hangover I've ever experienced, but then I went home. There was never a question...I would always go back to Pete.

When I finally returned to the apartment, Pete was an absolute mess...a completely torn and beautifully dissociated mess. Pete suffered alone through nine entire days of tears and voices and demons. I knew he didn't eat once in those days and he looked very much like he was near death from possible dehydration.

All I could think of when I saw him like that was how resplendent and immaculate he appeared. He was my consummately blank canvas and I couldn't wait to break him down even more.

Purge • Create • Destroy • Rebuild

**

_I've been there before...Knocking on the same door…_

Pete doesn't even leave the house anymore, at least not without me, and I didn't even have to ask him to do that. He never speaks to anyone without my permission. He's calm and soft spoken now. Long gone are the manic days of incessant chatter and conflicting opinions. Pete is always one step ahead in predicting my needs and so ardent in his desire to please me. All I have to do is just give him a look and he's on his back, legs spread, mouth open, ready and willing...

He's the perfect Stepford Cuckoo.

**

_It's when hate turns to love and love to hate...Faith to doubt and doubt to faith._

Patrick is the name for God on the lips and hearts of my Pete. He has been created as the ideal archetype of purity and submission. He's mine.

He is my greatest symphony.


End file.
